


Empathalitis

by AKSST



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Autistic Will Graham, Emotional Manipulation, Hannibal Loves Will, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal kissed Will better, M/M, Maybe eventually smut, Misunderstandings, Self-Hatred, Sickfic, Stimming, Will is just regular sick, no encephalitis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKSST/pseuds/AKSST
Summary: Will gets sick and cancels an appointment with Hannibal. Hannibal comes out to find Will in pre shutdown, Hannibal's knowledge of Autism comes in handy for the episode. Hannibal uses it as an excuse to get closer to Will and to modify his manipulation.Basically this is my way of not being able to deal with the end of Mizumono by preventing it.I have just learned that Empathalitis was previously coined as a side blog for lil-graham and is their word.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Will felt like shit. Literal shit. Headaches were common for him, but when coupled with fever and whatever the fuck his insides were doing…Will thought about his piss poor diet and wondered why his body didn't mutiny more often. He would have moaned in misery into his pillow but it would have made his head shatter.

 

Hot breathe on his face reminded him he had dogs that needed to be let out. “Fuuuuuuuck.” He jerked his head away too fast and his head pounded in retaliation. “Winston you foul smelling animal,  _ down.  _ Off the bed.” Will ordered as he dragged his sorry ass up and to the door. As he opened it he saw the sun was high in the sky, past noon. He had slept past noon and still felt this shitty? He prayed out loud to a god he didn't believe in for a swift, merciful death. 

 

Will soon literally kicked himself. He had an appointment with Hannibal in a few hours. He remembered Hannibal’s 24 hour cancellation policy.  _ Fuuuuuuuck  _ there was just no end to the horseshit of his day. He looked up to his roof before walking back in, wondering if a fall from that height would kill him. He saw his vision waver and give some parallel images. He knew what was coming  and had been expecting one. Sighing like an over dramatic bitch he picked up his phone and dialed the number for Hannibal’s office. 

 

Maybe luck would smile on him and Hannibal would be in with one of his patients so Will would get his voicemail. 

 

“Hello, Will.” Came the accented voice. 

 

_ Goddess of luck, you are a whore. _

 

“Hannibal, hi.” 

 

“You sound surprised, Will, were you expecting me not to answer?” 

 

_ Fuck you, me.  _

 

“No, no, I'm just really not looking forward to telling you I need to cancel my appointment today.” Will felt his nails bite viciously into the palm of his hands. His wrist shaking with the urge to express. 

 

“You are aware of my 24 hour cancellation policy.”

 

“I know I am. I'm sick, I would usually come anyways, but I don't think I'm good to drive.”

 

_ I am literally garbage.  _

 

“Stress can weaken our immune systems. I have seen you come to work in less than perfect health. If you feel you are sick enough to cancel I cannot help but worry for you" 

 

_ I am the scum of the fucking Earth I should have just come anyways. _

 

“Don't worry, Doctor Lecter. I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm very sorry about cancelling on such short notice.” 

 

“If you insist, Will. Get plenty of rest, I will hope to see you soon.” 

 

“Thank you, Doctor Lecter, and I'm sorry again.” Will hung up. The last remaining tendrils of Hannibal’s disappointment tormenting his empathy. His body shaking around his mind, if he would just let go and let his body relax and expect emotions the way it was primed to… He couldn't let go, not until his mind forced  _ him  _ out of the equation entirely. 

 

_ Fuck fuck fuuuuuuuck. I hate myself. _

  
  


A few more hours passed by and Will decided that if he didn't eat at least something his body might die. He checked his fridge. He saw some butter he bought a month ago. What used to be an avocado but now resembled a kiwi. And some milk that was expired but doesn't smell like it would make him sick  _ quite yet. _ In his pantry he found a box of Mac and cheese with the logo of a company no longer in business. 

 

_ Good enough for me. _

 

He had his head resting in the crook of his arm on the counter as he stirred his orange chemical shit pasta with the unoccupied hand. That's when his dogs started barking. 

_ What fresh hell is this?  _

 

He left his past and looked out the window, only to see a Bentley pulling up his driveway. Will briefly considered locking his front door and escaping out the back. 

 

_ Will this day never end?  _

 

He opened the door, releasing his flood of dogs to see Hannibal. He stands there, unshaven, in his dirty, stained shirt and boxers, covered in dried sweat from when he had been sleeping all those hours ago. Will hadn't even bothered to shower, so he also smells like an alcoholic with seven dirty ass dogs. He's certain Hannibal will simply think he was just hungover and didn't feel like dealing with life. For the umpteenth time that day he wishes he was dead. 

 

“Hello, Will. I apologise for showing up unannounced, but your phone call and cancellation had me worried.” 

 

“There was no reason to worry, Doctor Lecter, or to trouble yourself. I wouldn't have asked you to come all the way out here.” 

 

“Then it is fortunate you are not asking, I am offering, and willing. May I come in?”

 

Will hesitated, Hannibal had seen his home before...when he had cleaned it. Rid as much of the dog hair as he possibly could have. Put his dishes through the washer. All the house cleaning stuff. 

 

“It's filthy inside.” 

 

“A calculated risk to my showing up unannounced. I do not mind Will. Unless of course you do?” Hannibal said this, knowing that while Will could be brisk and rude at times, he certainly wouldn't send Hannibal home without even letting him in. 

 

Will resisted the urge to sigh. He didn't want to let Hannibal in. He was tired, he was dirty. His house was dirty. Soon he might be either completely catatonic or in the midst of a meltdown. The surprise of the visit made his heart race and his stomach fill with bile. He should have locked the door and hid in the woods out back. Exacerbating his fever couldn't begin to feel as uncomfortable and intrusive as this. He didn't like letting new people in, Hannibal wasn't new people but he was still people and his home was his only really safe place from people. Worse he was a psychiatrist. Will had gotten lazy, Will had forgotten, that wasn't  _ safe.  _ Psychiatrists weren't safe for his kind. He resisted the urge to beat his fists on the sides of his head. What had he been thinking to even allow their relationship to get even this comfortable?

 

He'd let Hannibal into his house, a cleaner better, pretend version of it. Not when it was his  _ nest. _ He kept his breathing steady even as his brain grew foggy from the lack of oxygen his panic was demanding. 

 

“I won't send you away after you've gone to the trouble of coming all the way out here. Please, come in.” He managed to keep his voice steady as well.

 

Hannibal noted the immediate change his words had inflicted. Will's face aside from the briefest flicker had remained impassive. But Hannibal could smell(under the dogs and sour human)the smell of genuine distress. Panic. Fear. Had Will found out his Identity? Hannibal wondered how his brilliant boy had figured it out. 

 

Will invited him in. As Hannibal walked Inside he surmised that Will had told no one. Will was a late bloomer to his own becoming, explaining his fear. Will would soon learn he had nothing to fear. He was what should be feared. 

  
Will would be beautiful, timeless. A true masterpiece, in the face of his becoming. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Will led Hannibal inside, turned around and closed the door behind him. And from there said nothing. He didn't know what to do. If Hannibal minded(and surely he must) the filth that filled his home, he didn't say anything, Hannibal was really far too polite. 

 

“I was making dinner...if you want a plate.”  Will said finally. He was sure boxed macaroni of any kind would make his friend wonder about potential poisoning. Still, Will walked into the kitchen in a way that he knew was far too fast to resume stirring the small scale Chernobyl disaster that was his(now their) dinner. 

 

He felt Hannibal stand behind him to peer into the pot. Will felt his skin crawl, even though Hannibal had not even grazed him. He resisted the childish urge to shove Hannibal away. It wasn't his doctor's fault, Hannibal had no idea that he was hurting Will. Will held still, save the hand he forced to move to stir. The crawling became itching, which became burning. His back felt like it had that time as a child in Louisiana. He had such a bad sunburn he grew yellow welts. 

 

“Will, far be it from me to criticize the food my host serves me, however this time I must make an exception. I do believe this will, without a single doubt in my mind worsen your condition, if not finish you off entirely.” 

 

Will did not stop stirring, it was mechanical, in an oval. Anything not being stirred into the oval was getting scorched, probably by now it was well on its way to fusing with the pan. His speech was hiding from him, he tried to force out a sarcastic response as per usual but found he couldn't force his tongue to do as he bid. 

 

“Oh yeah?” Was all he could get out of his lips, which felt like stone, even as he forced them into a smile meant to be genuine, but turned into a grimace halfway through. Will was losing it.

 

“Yes indeed. I have brought some food, it is still in my car, I'll go and retrieve it.” Hannibal said, all in a good natured humor. He put his hand on Will's shoulder before leaving. Though the touch was gentle in nature, Will resisted letting his knees buckle, Hannibal’s hand gently resting on his shoulder may as well have been a blow for how it felt against his hypersensitive skin.

 

_ StupidstupidSTUPID. What the fuck was I thinking?!?  _ Will let his breathing finally speed up, giving into his body's desperate need for oxygen. The sudden rush of air shocked his brain into a fog. The world swam in front of him in a panicked, fevered kaleidoscope. He felt his body shake, and eventually realized he was hitting himself in the head. Punishing himself. He remembered every stupid little thing he did. Every time he failed to make eye contact, every missed cue, every step out of place, every face that had ever been upset with him. They were all angry and they never told  him why. It was all his fault, they was all his personal failures. 

 

All evidence that he didn't belong. Will was alone in his mind, with his memories, his failures. He should have done this, he should have done that. He can hear the voices of every pathetic excuse for a counselor ever gave him. All either offered him meaningless platitudes or fire and brimstone for his mistakes. His head was so  _ full. _ So full of words, counselors, family, well intentioned friends, and now serial killers. 

 

How, with all of that crowding his head, did Will still feel so  _ alone.  _ He felt the glass. Everyone else in his head was screaming at him from the other side. He floated. He couldn't move, they could move. 

 

_ Take control...take control…  _

 

**_Control yourself._ **

 

God, he had heard that every fucking day. If the world hurt him and he cried he was out of control. If the other kids hit him and he yelled, or god forbid hit them back he was out of control. He remembered the smirks of the other kids as they told him that they were just being kids. He needed to control himself around them.

 

_ If you can't control yourself we will be forced to do it for you!  _

 

Those words filled him with terror to this day. He remembered the chair they strapped him to when they were tired of his crying, his 'excuses’. There was nothing else in the room. Just a barred window, a locked door, and the chair. He remembered how many times they just...forgot about him there. He remembered sitting in his own filth, his lower back aching from sitting for so long. He remembered being  _ so thirsty. _ He remembered crying and howling until they remembered he was there. 

 

He remembered them telling him the only way out was to control himself and remain calm and pleasant to be around. They had had to hold their breathe over the smell.

 

Will forced himself back into the present. He resisted the childish urge to simply sit down and cry on his kitchen floor. His ribcage hurt. Like someone had used an old fashioned metal nutcracker on the cartilage. He was alone with his mistakes, his fear, and his hate. He was so  _ lonely. _

 

He tried to keep stirring the pasta, but his arms wouldn't obey him. They felt weighted, or as though they had long lost blood circulation. Now he really did begin to cry. Not here, not while he had Dr. Lecter in the room. He would  _ know. Immediately.  _

 

In a last ditch attempt to stir he put his back into it and flung the entire pot off the stove. He tried to catch it and felt his hands get burned from the liquid macaroni and the hot burner. He felt the pain as far away, only felt the flesh of his hands rise as they burned. The pain would come later. 

 

He was going into shut down. 

 

He had to hide, but found he couldn't move. He felt his fists hitting his head again and knew he deserved it. 

 

\--

 

Hannibal heard something crash from inside the house, and then a very faint sound. One that he couldn't immediately identify. Either way he returned to the house. The sound intensified, it was coming from Will. It was the sound of hysterical sobbing. 

 

Hannibal found his Will on the floor, pummeling his own head with his fists. For a moment he wondered if the discovery of Hannibal’s identity had set him off, then quickly dismissed it. This was clearly self hate and a great deal of something else. 

 

Hannibal would have liked to see the rest of the episode played out, but Will had already given himself a bloody nose. He decided to intervene before Will did himself serious damage. 

 

He kept watching as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He noted that Will had burned both his hands as well as his left forearm. He decided to remove his vest as well. It was one of his favorite vests and he didn't want to ruin it with the revolting plastic slime that Will had been planning to consume. 

 

He got behind Will and lifted him from under his arms, he was expecting the howl that came out of him. Hannibal dragged Will out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. He needed to put a locked door between them and Will's dogs. They were already barking and showing Hannibal their teeth. Thinking Hannibal was hurting their precious caregiver. Winston, the newest one, who was not as well trained as the others made several attempts at Hannibal’s leg. 

 

Using Will as a shield, the dogs were unwilling to risk biting him strand of Hannibal, he quickly dragged him back to one of the unused bedrooms on the second floor. He dropped Will long enough to slam the door shut on the dogs. He turned around to find Will clawing at himself, ripping at his hair and his clothes. 

 

Hannibal dragged Will's hands away from himself. Using the superior strength that came from hauling corpses and unconscious human beings Hannibal easily overpowered Will. Grabbing Will by his wrists, wary of pulling the burned skin to the point of tearing he pulling Will's back to his chest and crossed his arms tightly. Hannibal then used his own legs to keep Will from kicking and lashing out. 

 

Soon enough Will stopped struggling, but Hannibal didn't release his grip or the tight hold he had. Now Will simply shook and cried. Weakly trying to beat himself again. Hannibal noted that Will seemed to relax more the tighter his hold grew, and that Will never once made any attempt whatsoever to hurt anyone other than himself. 

 

Between Will's empathy, his imagination, the maladaptive daydreaming. This new development of meltdowns and the obvious sensory processing disorder as well as the issue with eye contact Will had. Hannibal suspected a particular neurodivergency. 

 

Hannibal held Will closer, keeping his tight hold while trying to warm him with body heat. It would be several hours, possibly even a night's sleep and half a morning before Will was firing on all cylinders again.

 

“I am here, Will. For as long as you want me to be. This won't change who you are to me. “ Hannibal said. 

  
_ And I will  _ **_never_ ** _ let you go.  _ He added to himself as he breathed in the scent of Will's diminishing terror.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The sun was down before Will fell asleep. He still shook in his sleep and his breath was stuttered out and irregular. Hannibal kept his fingers on Will's wrists to make sure his pulse stayed within tolerable levels. After Will was eased into the REM cycle Hannibal released his hold and rose from the floor to observe the room. Will appeared to be using it for storage. Thankfully there was a bed, even if it had a considerable amount of...storage stacked on it. Hannibal resisted calling it garbage even in his mind. 

 

It took him a few moments to clear the bed off. Halfway through he could smell that the sheets were musty, had probably been on the bed when Will bought the place. He opened the window and stripped the bed, simply throwing the sheets into the trash. Hannibal would have liked to let the mattress air out for a while but the situation didn't really allow that at this time. He opened the door to the room, calmly letting the frantic dogs in. Standing stock still as they went straight for their beloved Master, smelling and examining him thoroughly for injuries, when assured Will was breathing and alive they returned their attention to Hannibal. 

 

They stared at him, ready to avenge their fallen leader. Hannibal tapped his thigh twice, told them they were good dogs, pointed at Will and gave the order to watch him. The dogs wagged their tails and laid down beside Will, keeping him warm in Hannibal’s stead as he went in search of fresh sheets and a spray bottle of bleach. Using the bleach first he waits only enough for the cleaner to dry before adding the sheets.

Hannibal decided to make use of the time by finally checking Will's hands. Using a wet rag he cleaned the dried cheese sauce off his hands and arm. After that he examined the burn left by the hot cheese and the stove top. Neither burn was serious, and would remain so provided they were kept clean. Which may become an issue, as looking around, the love Will had for his dogs was evident, but Will clearly had issues with self care. Hannibal deemed the bed dry enough after a few more moments of pondering. He carefully waded through the dogs to lift Will and set him on the bed. Winston was eyeing his leg the whole time. 

 

Hannibal looked at the dogs and decided Will needed them right now and called them up on the bed. They all eagerly jumped up and settled down around him and prepared to spend their night in vigil. Hannibal went to one of the closets downstairs and got one as well as one of the blankets off of the pull out that Will usually slept on. Will needed familiar scents around him, even though Will's night sweats made this blanket worthy of burning in Hannibal’s eyes. Hence the clean one from the closet providing a barrier.

 

As soon as he had Will tucked into bed with the animals Hannibal returned downstairs. He opened all the windows and the front door, he noted that the fold out futon mattress Will did sleep on was damp from his sweats. Probably had some mold in it by now. Hannibal once again had to resist the urge to throw something of Will's away. He allowed himself to imagine a scenario where Will allowed him to care for him, buy him some clothes that weren't so hideous, some furniture that didn't belong in Satan's dumpster. Perhaps if Hannibal disguised the outing as buying some Tempur-Pedic dog beds for the older members of his pack. 

Hannibal nodded, that would surely do it. He simply set the futon on the rail of the porch to air out. From there he had to clean up the revolting bastardized version of des macaronis au fromage, which has sat while Hannibal calmed Will down. The dogs had thankfully eaten most of it, so Hannibal would not have to touch much of the foul imitation of actual food. He washed Will's dishes and scrubbed his counters, from there he moved to the surprisingly empty fridge. After that Hannibal moved the food he had brought over into the now clean receptacle. 

 

Hannibal went to check on Will and decided that he would be asleep for another several hours. Hannibal decided to go to the store and buy food. At least something for breakfast. In the rural place that Will lived, there certainly had to be someone who sold organic produce. He bought everything he needed, and some extra by “mistake”, knowing the guilt that Hannibal had bought it for him would give Will more incentive to eat the extra groceries instead of letting them suffer the same fate as that green lump in his fridge that Hannibal hadn't been able to identify.

 

Hannibal decided to wake Will up soon. It was nearing 10:00am by this time. He knew Will wouldn't be ready to talk for a while yet. He wouldn't physically be able to for several hours after awakening, mentally and emotionally he might never be ready. The scars from what would have been done to him all throughout his childhood were likely still inflamed to this day. 

 

Hannibal decided to make something closer to Will's liking than to his, Will had never complained, or disliked anything Hannibal had ever made. But sometimes, pancakes simply take the spotlight. Will had probably grown up on them, and Hannibal wanted him to feel the warmth that the memories of hot food in the mornings provided. 

 

He could imagine Will as a child, odd and slightly unwelcome, even in his own home due to his divergence. No parent could stand their child being treated that way that Will obviously had been without some level of resentment toward the child. He had spoken fondly enough of his father that Hannibal didn't suspect direct, intentional abuse. He suspected that Will's father had tolerated the abuse the teachers gave Will because it gave the man some satisfaction at Will being made to change in a way that he could not do without Child Protective Services knocking on the door. Something hot for breakfast as an apology, more to ease his own guilt. Hannibal was sure the man gave himself all those constant pats on the back for making sure his son stayed within the lines the majority had drawn. Will's father had been a boat worker, so it would have had to be something easy to make, that didn't take too long. 

 

Pancakes, fried eggs, over medium, fried ham slices, warmed Maple syrup, and coffee. Hannibal had of course thrown out the horrific sludge Will had previously been drinking. It had probably been doing his liver more damage than all the whiskey the man drank. He whistled for Will's dogs and let them out onto Will's property to run, Winston of course didn't budge from Will's side. 

 

Hannibal had to admit that dog in particular was growing on him. He didn't even beg for food, he simply watched over Will. Hannibal did direct the dog onto the floor so he could wake the man in the bed. Hannibal firmly grasped his shoulder and pressed firmly into the rotator cuff that had been damaged when Will was a police officer. Pain would center Will and wake him more quickly. Once Will opened his eyes Hannibal helped him sit up. 

 

“It's okay if you can't talk yet Will, I've made some breakfast. I know an episode like the one you had can leave you feeling drained physically as well as emotionally. I want you to try and lift the fork. Can you do that for me Will?” Hannibal made sure to speak in a softer tone than was usual, so as not to hurt the man's ears.  He wanted to do so much more.  He wanted to massage his thumbs into Will's temples but knew that he was already overstepping himself. 

 

Will looked at the plate for 20 seconds, Hannibal would have given him all the time in the world. Will finally reached for the fork and tried to grasp it, he couldn't grip it firmly enough so he balanced it between his thumb and forefinger, sliding it to scoop up food. But when he tried to lift it the shaking started, it made a terrible noise as the fork clicked repeatedly against the rim of the plate, which Hannibal also suspected hurt Will's ears. Then the fork slid from Will's grasp and land in the plate with a clatter. Will turned red and looked as though he might cry. 

 

“It's quite alright Will. I was merely testing your motor control. Exhaustion is to be expected. I can help you eat. This will get cold soon if I don't.” Hannibal said, good naturedly as he speared the pancakes himself and held them up to Will's mouth. Who averted his eyes and blushed more deeply, with a lost, embarrassed look on his face. 

 

“Please allow me to help you eat Will, don't feel ashamed. I am already impressed that you have as much energy to support fine motor control that you do after your ordeal.” Will still looked red faced, ashamed, and miserable. “Either way if you've forgotten, you quoted The Hulk at me as a measure of intimidation on our first meeting.” Hannibal said with a smile at the end. Will responded by letting out a quick, stuttered breath that Hannibal interpreted as a nervous laugh. “I assure you, this is a step up.” He tacked on and actually got Will's lips to twitch. 

 

Will chewed slowly after Hannibal set the food in his mouth, Hannibal did not rush him. He watched Will carefully for when he would grow full as he still had no way of telling Hannibal that he was. Hannibal also did not want to force an overeating onto him(although he should be eating much more)he made sure Will had enough time between bites to prepare himself for manually ordering his individual muscles to chew. 

 

Hannibal saw him looking reluctant at the plate after half of it was gone. “Would you like to walk downstairs, or perhaps sit on the porch? Fresh air and a breeze could be helpful. You could spend time with your dogs and watch them run.” Will's lips twitched again, there was now a discernible upturn to the corners. Hannibal took Will's hand and rested it on his own. “Tap once for downstairs, and twice for the porch.” Will tapped twice. “Excellent choice.” Hannibal said with a smile. 

 

He grasped Will under his arms, wrapping one around his shoulders and then wrapping his own around Will's waist. It was much easier hauling him down the stairs than up them, especially since he was going of his own volition. 

 

Hannibal couldn't resist pressing his palm into Will a bit sooner and a bit more firmly than was professional. He slid his hand from the side of Will's back to the side and cupped his fingers into Will's stomach. His slim figure was deceptive, he was underweight for his height and size, but his belly was soft, giving way to the weak abdominal wall. Will didn't eat enough and when he did it seems it was either whiskey or garbage. Hannibal vowed to remedy that in the future as he slyly rubbed Will's stomach under the guise of pulling his shirt down a bit. 

 

Hannibal set him down in the wicker chair that, judging by the wear and tear was Will's favorite. He then went back upstairs to retrieve a clean blanket and a sweater for Will. Hopefully Will would fall back asleep and allow his body to further recover. Hannibal also noted that Will should be properly introduced to fabric softener and a detergent that didn't smell like mystery acid and cheap perfume. 

 

Will had enough energy to put the sweater on himself at least. Hannibal draped the blanket over Will's lap, and then left, seeing from the corner of his eye that Will had pulled it up around his shoulders and was rubbing the blanket with his thumb. He could see the signs of a human being touch starved, and comfort deprived. 

 

He pretended to be busy with other matters, watching the dogs, checking Will's futon. Informing him that there was indeed mold growing in it and that it was, in all probability, no longer safe to sleep on. He watched Will out of the corner of his eye as the man finally allowed himself to relax enough that sleep was inevitable. Hannibal whistled for the dogs to come inside and counted all of them to ensure they were all there. Winston of course had ignored him and stayed with his head on Will's thigh. 

 

“Let's bring you inside, Will. You'd worsen your fever if you fell asleep outside.” Will nodded, still silent. Hannibal had no doubt he was capable of speech, and no doubt that it would be distressing to make the attempt at it. He could at least stand on his own, only needed Hannibal's hand for support and balance. Hannibal brought him back upstairs to the fresh bed. Will didn't need help climbing in. 

 

“Unless you need anything else, Will I will be taking my leave. I do have appointments today, after all.” Hannibal said, still good naturedly, but he could still see the flash of guilt and self resentment on Will's face briefly. “I will see you at our next appointment. Please don't be alarmed, I will not ambush you, we need not discuss this at all if you do not wish. I will not force or expect it from you. All I ask is that you take care of yourself in the meantime.” Will looked down, and nodded. “Then goodbye, Will, I will see you later.” 

 

“Goodbye...Hani...bal.” Will forced out as gently as he could. He appeared relieved that Hannibal just smiled and nodded over making a fuss about it. Hannibal then left, he kept the door open to give the dogs free access. 

 

As Hannibal left Will's house he wondered how many times Will had done that alone. Clawing, beating at himself, pounding his head into walls and floors. And then the miserable aftermath, drenched in shame, no one to care for him, or even be there with him.  As Hannibal got into his Bentley and began to drive away, he gave the farmhouse one last look. 

 

He wondered if next time he should bring in some stew for Will. Make a habit of bringing food over to him. He was certain Will would see immediately what was going on, had probably already thought of it before Hannibal himself did. 

 

Hannibal knew a particularly rude IT clerk that would make a perfect boeuf bourguigon. It would make a perfect addition to their next appointment. And if it would help Hannibal groom Will into being cared for by him? 

  
That was just a bonus. 


	4. Chapter 4

Will woke up alone. In a bed for a change. A real bed instead of the pull out he usually slept on. He felt anxious at being in a new place for sleeping, but begrudgingly acknowledged that his back felt a bit better than it usually did, as well as his neck. He pushed himself up and noticed the dogs had all slept upstairs in the bed with him instead of their own beds. As he looked around at each of them they all avoided eye contact. As though he wouldn't notice that they had broken the rules if they all looked as though they had no idea where they were. 

 

Will smiled and shooed them off the bed to take them outside. He felt alright. Better than he usually ever did after a meltdown. Usually after a meltdown he just felt tired and ashamed of himself. He spent his time afterwards fixing up any scratches or bad bruising, and feeling like shit while cleaning up the mess. This time Hannibal had taken care of him. 

 

And just like that, good feeling gone. Will rubbed his eyes and wondered how he was going to deal with this. Hannibal had said he wouldn't talk about it if he didn't want to, but Will knew better than to believe that. Shrinks never left anything alone, and if he had a problem with that they disregarded his autonomy and traipsed about his mind like it was theirs anyways. Like he was just squatting in his own head. And withholding their favorite candy. 

 

Will remembered the few times as a child he had made the mistake of trusting the shrinks and head doctors he had been taken to. Thinking they were his friend or good people. But the second he had tried to set boundaries, or was too tired to keep talking, or resisted in the slightest… He learned the hard way to use his empathy as a shield. He felt their greed for him and what he held dear. What would the little aspie empath like and why? It was their mission, to tear and pick him apart and lay him bare in the most vulnerable area of his person. Whether he liked it, or gave his consent wasn't even a question to be asked. They simply didn't care. He learned that the hard way. But he remembered how much it  _ hurt _ learning it. 

 

He didn't want to feel that way about Hannibal. Hannibal had become a friend, what had Will been thinking? He had fallen for it again. 

 

Will felt a whimper of pain crawl around the back of his throat, he held it back. Knowing to hide weakness even in private. He felt his chest vibrate around tears he refused to shed. This was his own fault and he should have known better than to let their relationship go as far as it had. 

 

But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt to know that the next time he saw Hannibal he would prove himself to be like all the rest. Greedy for what wasn't theirs and uncaring of the pain they put him through. He was too tired for another meltdown, but he couldn't help the tears after all. Will felt betrayed by himself. He wouldn't blame Hannibal, curiosity was his nature, and psychiatry his profession, but he would still feel that stab when Hannibal tried to play at nonchalance when he asked Will those probing questions. 

 

Hannibal had probably already looked at his medical records and seen the Autism diagnosis. He had probably come over hoping to see what he had. Will felt his heart drop through his stomach. He had been so  _ blind _ . Willingly so. 

 

He deserved this pain. It would teach him to know better next time. 

 

Vulnerability was too dangerous to risk. 

 

\-----

 

Hannibal sang under his breath as he carved slice after slice of meat away from the writhing, shrieking man on the cross. The man had been a whining, pathetic, wannabe martyr in life, and he would achieve his goal in death. 

 

Hannibal was pleased this man was indeed a vegetarian. He could use the meat instead of organs. He did of course love organs, but meat was a treat he didn't get to eat as much. Carnivore meat tended to taste of wherever it had been, and of whatever unsavory activities had been practiced before death. Vegetarian pig however tended to taste pre seasoned. Perfect for stew. 

 

Hannibal smiled. He was excited for the next day. He knew he had his work cut out for him. One did not erase trauma and cruelty as well as a lifetime of injustice over the course of a conversation. Hannibal was a very patient man, however. He would wait for his Will to be as comfortable as needed. 

 

\-----

 

Will had intended to be as cold and distant as was polite. He had intended to remind both of them of their boundaries. 

 

Instead he was pacing manically, sweating heavily like a feral twink, and kept forgetting to exhale. Hannibal reminded him every few minutes to refresh his air supply. Hannibal had simply watched him. Hadn't said a word beyond his greetings and the reminders of breath. 

 

Will had been expecting a thinly veiled inquiry about his mind. Instead he was meant with a patient stare. Usually Will would respond with a stare of his own, he had one down to a practiced science and it made even the coldest of shrinks flush slightly with shame. 

 

But that would be rude, and after Hannibal had been so kind. Even cleaning his home and filling his fridge. Will couldn't bring himself to do that. He bit his lower lip and decided to bite the bullet and initiate. Might as well get this over with. 

 

“Thank you, Hannibal, for everything. All that you did. Thanks.” He said, awkwardly, blushing. He didn't want to think about his moment of weakness again for the rest of his life. 

 

“It was no trouble, Will. It did worry me at first, but I do not believe that it is the most concerning thing you currently face. You shouldn't be pushing yourself to the point of meltdowns. The stress of your job is surely to frequently trigger them.” Said Hannibal in his best doctor voice. 

 

Will was stunned. Hannibal had transitioned into talking about Will not working for Jack again. Like most of their sessions where Will spoke about his troubling psyche. 

 

“I know I am beating a dead horse when I say that you should stop your work. You find it rewarding, but it is damaging to you.” Hannibal said in the face of Will's continuing silence. 

 

Will turned away from the Doctor. He was using avoidance of the subject until Will became uncomfortable and brought it up himself.  _ Those meltdowns would happen anyways, they're a fact of life for many of us. _ He thought bitterly. He wanted to get this over with, wanted to get the feeling of betrayal and shame done with so he could move on.  _  All alone again. _ His mind teased cruelly. 

 

His mind was brought back to reality but the slight puffs of air at the back of his neck. Before he could ask Hannibal what the fuck the man was talking again. 

 

“Did you just smell me?” 

 

“Betrayal has a sour smell, Will. Like bad fruit.” He said, ignoring Will. “Why do you feel betrayed?” Will stayed silent, now frozen to the spot. He closed his eyes tight and decided to take the band-aid route. It's not like he didn't have three bottles of bourbon on hand for nothing. 

 

“Ask your questions, Doctor.” He said, finally. He has meant these words to come out terse and with a show of slight dominance. Instead they came out tired and defeated. “I know you want to. I can feel your questions eating away in the back of your throat. I can  _ taste  _ them in the air around you.” Will kept his eyes down, he didn't want to read Hannibal. He didn't want to read the false sincerity and fake smiles. The bullshit reassurances that he wasn't like them. “Just sign the paper that tells Jack I'm too  _ fragile _ , or that my mental age and development are just  _ too lacking,  _ or that I'm being selfish by not letting you use me as a research opportunity. But don't look at me...like you still see a person.” Will felt the tears in his eyes threatening to drop, he heard his own voice through Dr. Lecter’s perspective. Like a man resigned to the gallows, he could almost hear in Lecter's voice. 

 

“Will,” Hannibal said. “I am going to do something that is unwise and rather unprofessional now.” 

 

_ Here comes the 'How dare you talk to me like that” speech.  _ Will thought. He braced himself for the doctor's outrage. But was not expecting the man to slowly open his arms, clearly projecting his movements. Giving Will the chance to run if he so chose. 

Will froze as the deceptively strong arms of his psychiatrist wrapped around his waist and shoulders. Slowly adding pressure until it would have been painful for a neurotypical. But it felt wonderful for Will. He didn't know what to do, Hannibal was so warm. He felt a hand on his neck as the lines between which man was who began to blur and mesh. Will could feel Hannibal's genuine sincerity. And he could feel something  _ more.  _

 

“I know you don't trust me, Will. I know you never have. I know you probably never will, entirely. No matter what you or I sees and does for the other there will always be doubt in your mind of my sincerity. You, like every Autistic, will have faced cruelty, abuse, and bigoted hatred from all sides. You have no reason to trust someone of my profession.” Hannibal's hand went from his neck to his hair and made a tight fist. The air rushed from Will's lungs and he closed his eyes in the relief the sensation triggered, tears finally falling as he grasped at Hannibal in return. “I am not like them, Will. I cannot promise to never hurt you. No one can ever go through life without harming another. But I will  _ never  _ betray you. Nothing I write is attached to your medical records. I have never even looked at your medical records, nor do I intend to. I am not your psychiatrist, I never truly was. What I want to be is your friend.” 

 

Will didn't let any sound leave himself, but he knew Hannibal could feel those two tears he shed through his shirt before Will slowly pulled away. Will assessed himself and Hannibal. He knew Hannibal meant what he said. Will could find safety in Hannibal. And something more if he so desired it. He could feel Hannibal's curiosity about him. Will could feel even more respect for who he was and even more of Hannibal's...personal regard for him. 

 

Will grasped Hannibal's arm and shoulder. Gathering himself, preparing for verbal communication. He knew it would hurt himself, but Hannibal deserved it. 

 

Will raised his eyes to make contact with the doctor's, making his own throb as if under pressure. Will held the contact while he said his next words.

  
“I believe you.” 


	5. Chapter 5

They both sat down at Hannibal's desk, eating the stew he had made for them. Will had no doubt Hannibal would turn green if he ever referred to the stew as stew. But that's what it was. Beef and potato stew, with a name that Will had to resist snickering at. Aside from the compliments and the sound of polite eating, the office was silent. Being Hannibal's last patient of the day had its perks. They could stop and eat for a bit if they chose. And avoid the subject if they wanted. Will still felt as though he was wasting his doctor's time. He was nervous about that, nervous enough he didn't see Hannibal preparing to speak and was slightly startled by the sudden noise.

 

“Would you like to talk about your trauma, Will?” Hannibal asked, jumping right into it. Noting that Will had jumped slightly and had winced a bit. He reminded himself to speak in a quieter tone. The ears of the neurodivergent were notoriously sensitive. 

 

“Not particularly.” Will answered. Hannibal had been expecting that. 

 

“I believe it would be good for you. Your distrust of the medical community, while justified, will harm you.” Hannibal said. “This issue will be used with full confidentiality, as you know I am required to give Jack updates, which is why my status as unofficial psychiatrist is what it is. He will not hear of this from me. None of it. This would be purely to build your trust.” 

 

Will was silent for a bit, wondering how to best formulate his answer. He didn't want to insult his friend. 

 

“I don't want to build that trust.” He said finally. “I am alright with you. The rest don't deserve my trust. I have given it, and I have seen others give it. At all stages of life. It has never ended well for... _ us. _ ” Will hesitated to say 'our kind’ as he didn't know if the doctor would take that literally. There were enough doctors that already thought Autistic people were more like neanderthals than humans. Will wouldn't want to validate that line of nonsense in any way, even if he did view himself as different from other humans. He was about to say more when Hannibal took the breath that indicated one of his speeches.

 

“I am well aware. Doctors can be notoriously callous, it is a profession that is attractive to both psychopaths and narcissistic personalities. You were a toy to them. The broken toy that defied the pathetic, stereotype driven understanding of Autism that they took for fact. It damaged you, in both your mental health as well as your ability to trust. These also affect your physical health. You do your best to be cold so that on days when you cannot bring yourself to be warm it isn't noticed. You can never allow yourself to appear weak, or ask for help. You can't admit when you're too far gone to deal with others. You also cannot stand to appear useless and so you drive yourself to sickness in your work, no matter what it is.” 

 

“I cancelled our last appointment.” Will couldn't stop himself from blurting out in defense of himself. He turned red realizing he had interrupted and resisted literally kicking himself. He apologized and Hannibal nodded in return. Will still felt like an ass. 

 

“Indeed you did. I am willing to bargain that you, once we hung up, engaged in quite the round of mental berating and self punishment. How long did you put off eating, although you hadn't eaten all day? That cheese dish was all you had, and there were no other dishes in the sink.” Hannibal didn't mention the deplorable state of the man's pantry outright but it was written in the air around him. It wouldn't do for his Will to starve himself before Hannibal could see how wonderous he would be. Will's lip twitched in irritation at being caught. 

 

“Sometimes I forget, or don't have time, and it can be hard to tell if I'm hungry or nauseous.” He answered, looking out the corner of his eyes and then back to Hannibal's shoulder. 

 

“That is common in those with sensory processing issues. I would recommend that you carry small shelf stable snacks. Crackers, or some such other foods in your car?” Hannibal knew this had already been suggested to Will in the past, there was no way it would have been avoided. He knew Will would forget. And after Hannibal got him used to regular, or at least semi regular meals, it would have Will coming to him as he began to notice his hunger. Hannibal took a moment while Will formulated his response. He imagined Will blushing slightly as his hunger made him instinctively glance at Hannibal, but too polite to ask to be fed. Perhaps Hannibal would make Will ask, Hannibal could only imagine the face he would make for that. Or perhaps he would wait until Will's stomach voiced its own protest without the consent of its owner.  

 

“I have tried that before, but it just leads to rotten food in my car. And wallet. And other places.” Will said, relaxing a bit. Forcing himself to before he ended up being shot out of his chair. 

 

Hannibal nodded. “Perhaps we put a pin in that until we find something better. There is no need to fix everything in one day. I would be more than happy to simply build trust with you until you are ready to talk about the heart of your issues.” 

 

Will turned his head towards Hannibal fully. He knew of Hannibal's...regard for him now. He knew that Hannibal could be trying to bring them closer for that purpose, or he could be actually trying to help. Unless he had decided to push his own emotions aside for Will. Will felt a bit guilty, he knew that he had an unfair advantage over Hannibal with his empathy. He also felt bad that he would think Hannibal would let his emotions get in the way of his job. Hannibal was a man in control. Of everything. He wouldn't let something like personal emotions get in the way of his work or objectivity. The man was an internationally renowned psychiatrist, he wouldn't risk that for emotions. Will let his emotions fade away leaving only logic. With no emotions in the way and only evidence to show him what should be done. Based on actions and words exchanged. 

 

Will decided to trust Hannibal Lecter. 

 

\-----

  
  


Will was not happy to be sitting where he was sitting. He wasn't happy about the room, he wasn't happy about the building that housed the room. He was especially unhappy with the hipster bearded jackass that manned the building he was so unhappy about. 

 

Will waited patiently, while Chilton preened and pranced in the fog of his own smug. So sure he had the Chesapeake Ripper in his hands, talking about how  _ fascinating  _ it all was. Will could smell Chilton had something to do with this. He was not overly concerned with the death of his nurse, in fact he seemed delighted with it. Like the man had won a wager regarding it. Well, Will was sure he'd won something. 

 

Will was thankful that the conversation remained mostly with Jack and all Will had to do was glare and make bitchy retorts when Chilton started at him like a lab technician with a new toy. It was probably good the Jack intervened before Will said anything... regrettable. Will was still short on his temper after becoming so emotionally drained. 

 

Will could have known from looking at the notes that this wasn't a real Ripper murder. The fact that the mutilation was done post mortem should have been enough for  _ anyone  _ to see. He had abstained from murder all this time and denied himself the best part? The part that truly  _ mattered _ ? Will felt like any fool who glanced at the case file should see that the torture while the victim was alive was the best part aside from the trophies. The pig needed to squeal first. 

 

It was like eating Kale for your cheat day to leave the torture for after the pig was dead. 

 

\------

 

_ He was being rolled down the hallway. The oxygen mask set incorrectly on his face. He would have been able to do a much better job. But that what they get, they revoked his license, and now they'll get substandard medical care.  _

 

_ They've left us all alone, how  _ **_fun_ ** _. You can't do it all, my dear. You should have been watching me. But you're not.  _

 

_ Your loss.  _

 

_ The burning sting of the tine felt like a mischievous tickle from Loki himself. How easy was this, really? How  _ **_easy_ ** _ to cause the chaos that was unfolding, metal forks in a prison. My god, that was so foolish that the prison deserved what was happening. If this was about deserve in the first place, but it's not. This is for  _ **_fun._ **

 

**_FUN! FUN! FUN!_ **

 

_ The plan isn't over yet, it can still be stopped. He watched the woman, not even glancing at her patient as he rose behind her, only turning to the sound of the flatline.  _

 

_ The ensuing violence was all according to plan. Rehearsal after rehearsal made this moment possible. Everything had to be  _ **_perfect._ ** _ This is who he was, this is who he must be. This is my design, it has to be, it's there in my mind, it must be true. It is true.  _

 

_ As he slams the IV staff into her, delivering the killing blow… _

 

Will has what he needs. 

 

He opens his eyes as his chest constricts around his lungs, bowing under the force of emotion. A vulnerability he refused to show under the room of such a repugnant man, who he can tell is peeping. He can smell Chilton’s vile, overpowering, overcompensating cologne from the hallway. The obnoxious prick probably put on too much to leave a scent in a room he'd left so that people would still have to think about him. 

 

The man that did this was not the Ripper. This man had been fooled, he had let a curious shrink into his head and paid the price. He parroted what he knew about Gideon, and asked for confirmation to fake a dialogue until he could verbally communicate with actual meaning. It worked just as well, as Chilton had nothing of worth to add, nothing to showboat here, and Crawford seemed... distracted. 

  
All Will was overly concerned with was keeping himself as far away from Chilton as humanly possible. Crawford had lost his use as a buffer, to busy feeling bad about something Will didn't have the energy to dig and care about. Alana was coming soon. They would each profile Gideon. And then the games would begin. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I disappeared!! It's hard for me to incorporate lines and setting from the episode into my fic. Especially since it is going to divert in a very extreme way. I think I found the recipe I need for this so more updates will be much quicker! Enjoy! Comments always welcome!

Will owed Alana a pie. Or a cake, or something. She was talking to the ceaselessly preening, gel-slicked fuckface. And Will got to gaze out the window and pray that he got to go home soon. Only stopping to slide in his own opinion here and there. His opinion being that Chilton was a glory hound, and no fucking way in hell was Gideon the Chesapeake Ripper. 

 

“Murdering his wife was impulsive. The Chesapeake Ripper is  _ always meticulous _ . Which is why he  _ is _ so hard to  _ catch.”   _ Will said, barely turning to acknowledge the man. 

 

“ _ Was.  _ So hard to catch.” Chilton responded, too quick, with a scarcely there tremor in his voice that probably went unnoticed by Alana. “Will you be conducting a joint interview?” 

 

Alana once again took over the conversation. The only thing left for Will was to interject once more, to prompt the conversation further and to avoid being in a room alone with Chilton. Will could easily imagine Chilton pushing him into a shouting match over his lack of understanding that his patients were actually human beings and deserved to be treated as such, no matter what they'd done. And screaming in a hospital only got you sedated and committed. Something Will knew Chilton wasn't above. 

 

The schmuck. 

 

\------

 

Will was only asking generic questions about the case at first. He knew they were banal, and kind of obvious. He was far more interested in Gideon's body language. 

He was hiding. Literally, behind the hinges of the bars, holding his hands very tightly, hunching in on himself. Even his exasperated shrugs were held as tightly to himself as possible. 

 

Insecurities, unsure of everything, this man was obviously the victim here. 

 

“What effect were you hoping to have by killing the night nurse?”

 

“The effect I was hoping to have, was her death. Mission accomplished.” Gideon obviously had no more understanding than Chilton of who the real Ripper was.

 

“I don't have to convince  _ you,  _ that I am the Chesapeake Ripper.” He was growing unstable. Doubt was shredding him from the inside out. 

 

“Seems someone needs to.” 

 

This man had no idea who he was. He had killed that nurse because someone had told him that was who he was. Will sighed as he left the holding area. It would be hard to change their minds. NTs always liked the easiest explanation for everything. Anything more complex was just a conspiracy theory to them. 

 

Not to mention that it would be hell to get justice for Gideon. 

 

Maybe crucifying Chilton’s image would be enough.

 

\-----

 

The next day Will was in the morgue/lab with everyone. Jack was doing his usual posturing, Zeller was doing his best to show off for Price, and as usual, Katz was the most useful. She could run this whole.lab by herself and it would run better than it did now. Then of course she would live there but… 

 

“I see the Ripper but I don't... _ feel _ the Ripper. This is plagiarism.” 

 

“We never made the wound patterns for any of the Ripper’s victims public.” Said Jack, with his more special than thou opinions.

 

_ Yeah, pay me to stand here and spout exposition for you to ignore. _

 

“Well, maybe he is the Ripper, I don't know. But, if he's a plagiarist, the real Chesapeake Ripper is gonna make sure  **_everybody_ ** knows it.” 

 

Will knew a body was gonna drop soon. He wished he felt more guilty about that. Instead he felt mad. Furious even. Someone was going to die, from a killer that had seemingly hung out his shingle because one man was a glory hound. 

 

Fucking Chilton, that greasy haired, hipster bearded, wannabe Hannibal douche. 

 

\-------

 

Sure enough. They had their proof, bright, and fucking early. Ass-crack of dawn was the approximate time he received a call from Jack telling him to haul his sleep deprived, at this point, little more than  corpse in to work. 

 

_ I guess sleep is allergic to me anyways.  _

 

At least it was a phone call and not a corpse. And this way, Will got to listen to all the ways one could make an untraceable phone call to an FBI agent and not get into shit for it. 

 

“Then we know the Chesapeake Ripper is not Dr. Gideon, because we know the call was not made from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

 

“That we would have been able to trace.” Bev was one of the few people Will didn't mind interjecting. 

 

“Are you certain it was a recording?” To leave a body with that much significance in a too well hidden place was definitely not like the Ripper. But not being bright enough to find it would certainly fall under Jack's M.O. “You said yourself, there's no body.” 

 

“Miriam Lass is dead! The Chesapeake Ripper is making it very clear that someone is plagiarizing his work!” 

 

_ Oh wow, now it's your idea, I guess. _

 

_ Asshole _ .

 

At least Will wasn't dumb enough to imply that Jack dreamt it all up. 

 

“I KNOW! WHEN I'M!  **AWAKE!!** ”

 

It was amazing to Will that Zeller wasn't a dead man already. 

  
  


\-------

 

It was amazing. The blindness, the false smiles. The two dimensional  _ being _ of neurotypicals. Yet they dare to reduce the Neurodivergent to stereotype. 

 

“You want to bait the Ripper into killing again.” 

 

_ You want to sacrifice someone in an effort to give you a sniff from the crime scene. Nevermind that you've never caught that scent at any of his other crimes scenes.  _

  
  


“I have to push, Will.” Jack said, with an air of finality. 

 

_ No. Fucking. Way.  _ This was such bullshit. 

 

“Are you thinking of getting into bed with Freddie Lounds?”  _ Not that two bit cuntbucket.  _

 

“You yourself know it's the best way to bait the real Chesapeake Ripper.” Again, his words dripping with superiority, arrogance, and thrill. 

 

Will looked off in defeat. Jack didn't have a scent. He was chasing every piece of moss with ravaged desperation. He would never catch the Ripper. Jack was too excitable, and too trigger happy. The Ripper would only be caught in a long game. And they'd have to find him first before they could catch him. The Ripper was too smart for any of them. He would only be caught if he wanted to be. 

 

And what, if anything on this planet of Earth, could make someone like the Chesapeake Ripper, want to condemn himself to a life of Chilton throwing firing psychological blanks into the dark. 

 

Will was able to smile in the face of his fate the next day with that image. The reality of what would happen if the real Ripper was ever in the custody of Chilton. The Ripper would turn his mind inside out while boosting Chilton's ego until the very last second. 

 

And by then it's too late. The Ripper has you. 

 

Will knows that nothing, metaphor or otherwise, in this world, is more final than the Ripper. 

 

\-----

 

Will ignores the outstretched hand as he intends to ignore the entirety of this entire shameful, ridiculous display of pathetic cavorting. 

 

He quietly stews as Jack kisses ass in a similar way to how he kissed Will's ass during their first few days together. Far too similar for his comfort. 

 

In the end he couldn't keep to himself. His blind longing to  _ drag  _ her down some of the pegs had him opening his mouth and correcting her smug rendition of her job. And Jack quickly moving the subject along before a real argument could break loose. Will felt his cheek tic once or twice as Jack lured her in with what the fame whore wanted most. He had to put a lot more effort than he wanted into stopping said tic as Jack described her benefits the same way a TV chef would overcompensate on a bland, boring potato dish. Then he threw his 'stay out of it’ plan in the dumpster for the sake of speaking his mind as best he could without getting fired. 

 

“What's against you, and by association, us, is that your brand of journalism is obnoxious, and therefore disliked.” Will said, leaning forward, knowing this was petty. 

 

“Yes, that is an obstacle.” Freddie replied with a sickly sweet smile. “Tried getting an interview  with Dr. Gideon. I was denied, evidently some trouble with my  _ euphemism. _ ” Being in a room with her smug little attitude was like snorting aspartame. 

 

Will wished as he had so many times before that he could hurt NTs with their emotions like they did to him. 

 

He took his deep breaths as quietly as he could while Alana and Jack smoothed everything over again. Why was he here for this? There was no way his presence was doing any good, either for himself or to grease any wheels. Will couldn't even resist taking shots as he was actively attempting to not pay anything attention to the meeting. 

“Well then you know what number six is.* Will didn't even mean to say that out loud. He didn't regret it. At all. But he was in no mental state to be picking fights. He was already letting his body language go, holding his hands, angling his body away subconsciously. 

 

“Journalists. Know what number seven is, Mr Graham?” Freddie clapped right back. With that smug grin. 

 

“Law enforcement.” He said, tasting some cheek blood.

 

_ Touche. Bitch.  _

 

Will had a brief vision of strangling her and then sewing her face into a caricature of that expression on post mortem. It's what kept him silent on the hinges of her last little dig. 

 

\-----

 

Will's stomach was in knots. His recent anger heavy emotional state, along with the high stress of his job, did not combine well with the extra desperation he was absorbing from Jack. His head hurt, his neck and back hurt from hunching over. It was so hard to stay blank enough to be calm. Explain things calmly, as Jack was(understandably this time) losing his shit. 

 

Will would be even more upset about people in his house messing up his things. Though Will knew he'd probably care more about his things being messed up than he would about a murderer in his house. 

 

The whole situation was making Will nervous. He knew this was just an appetizer. More would come and from there it would be a complete cluster fuck. And he would be right there for all of it. There was a reason Will was here, sniffing for Jack as best he could while being kept on such a short leash. Will knew where he was being groomed. What he hated was that he almost never knew what for until the end of the game. 

 

“Did you know you were sending her after him?” Will asked. Keeping his eyes down and squinting in advance. This wasn't going to end well.

 

“I sent her after information.” Jack said. Well  _ that _ didn't sound rehearsed and played out  _ at all. _  Je thought sarcastically. Will knew he had to tread carefully. Placate him for now. He needed to be home, needed to hold his dogs close and feel their fur all around him. Will needed to feel centered, he needed to be anchored. 

 

“Whoever made that call thinks you were close to Miriam Lass, and feel responsible for her death.” State the obvious, NTs love the obvious. Especially when it is said in a well practiced tone that implies they're the saint in that situation. 

 

\------

 

Will was dead tired on his way home. All the clustered emotions he felt as well as the other emotions he mirrored and picked up all slammed together in his brain. He took to driving with one hand and violently flapping the other in an attempt to dispel them. 

 

When he parked in his driveway he left muscle memory take over. Will stepped out of the car. No need to lock it way out here. He listens to his dogs bark, anticipating the arrival of their favorite human. Smiling as they all rushed him to get their love and pets before running to the yard to do their business. Watching them run and jump and chase shadows before he went into the house to cook their food. Putting every bit of love he could into their meal. Feeding them and then leaving the door open. So they could let themselves in to find him lying on the floor. 

 

Sighing with relief as they crowded around him. Licking him, inspecting him, ensuring all was well with their precious human. Then laying down and nosing their way under his hands before settling in for a while. 

 

_ That  _ was when Will could let everything go. Sometimes he cried, sometimes he laughed. And other time he simply laid there, not making a sound. Will let out a breath that seemed to be made of tension. This was his anchor, this was his place of healing. 

 

He needed this at the end of the day, Will didn't think he'd be able to function at all if he didn't have this. 

 

Will needed his anchor. 

 

_ I also need my paddle.  _

 

The thought came out of nowhere. It was the last thought he had before falling asleep, there on the floor with his dogs. Will felt warm for the first time in days. 


End file.
